Lost In The Darkness
by Marennaa
Summary: A man bound to a life in dark cellars receives a 'present' – a young servant shot half-dead floating in the Seine. Against all reason she stays with him. What horrible past lies behind her and why can she not remember?
1. The Body in the Lake

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. He is Gaston Leroux's. I am just borrowing him to give him some of the happiness of human life he never had the chance to experience._

_**Author's Note:** This is the first Phanfic I wrote. So I do need MUCH review to tell me where to improve – and to make suggestions what is to happen next. ;-) Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy the story as much as I did in writing._

**Chapter One – The Body in the Lake**

A man sat in front of the organ. He played some tunes and put them down to paper feverishly, afraid the smooth accord would escape his mind again. New notes arose, echoed and died away in the darkness of the huge hall. Only the organ's keys and a dozen sheets of note papers were lit by a single candelabrum. The warm yellow light encircled the man together with his instrument holding his entire world – the world of music.

For weeks already he worked like that: concentrated, obsessed, maniacally. He whether cared about eating or drinking or even sleeping. The organist took no notice of the chillness, either, creeping from every wall and every distant corner towards the flame. Underneath the heavy woollen black cloak falling over the organ's bank to the floor, he wore a fine white shirt covered with an elegant black waistcoat. Those first-rate clothing constituted the last faint connection towards human culture existing up in the streets of Paris, a world the man had entirely isolated himself from by dwelling five storeys _under_ the city. His last contact to mankind dated two years back.

Composing had become his unique pastime and joy in life, the only activity that could fully consume his mind and save him from gloomy self-destructing thoughts. Writing music had pulled him back from insanity which had befallen him when a soprano, the love of his life, had refused him two years ago. The man had stayed behind to die, but death had not come…

Suddenly the shrill sound of a bell destroyed the lovely stream of cadenzas just like scissors cut the fine tissue of black velvet. The man in front of the organ startled. His hand slipped and instead of a carefully drawn note spots of red ink were scattered over the sheet.

"Mon Dieu!" He exclaimed and flung his fists down on the keys. The resulting mistunes made his ears aching.

"Mon Dieu!" He repeated as he saw the spoiled paper, grasped and crumpled it to let it vanish somewhere in the darkness.

_This stupid bell has ruined my entire aria!_ He thought furiously while leaving the organ and taking the candelabrum with him. _Now I have to reinvent it and god knows if I get it this good again. No, not even he knows…_

He cut this stream of thoughts. Now was not the right time to have philosophical discussions concerning the existence of a higher entity called god with oneself. The ring of this certain bell meant that something or someone had entered the lake beneath his lair through the secret little passage connecting the water with one of the side channels of the Seine that crossed whole Paris. An era ago, when he had built his house, the organist had also created this tunnel as an escape route in case he had to abandon his home.

If there was some_one_ he would not live long enough to find out what was outside the lake. The man swore to the possible intruder while rubbing his palms in anticipation of vengeance. _You have ruined my song and that shall not do you any good._

He crossed the room, entered a long hallway that was not lit and walked until he reached the shore of a lake. There was no light, either and the candlelight reflected in black water that softly splashed against the solid ground. He stood silently for some seconds, listening intensively if there was any breathing audible. At the water it was even colder. Slightly shivering the organist pulled his cloak tighter around him. He could not hear any sounds.

"The candle won't be enough." He mumbled and retreated to enlighten two big electrical lamps, one on each side of the lake. A rather large cave lay before him now, still not enlightened very well but sufficiently to see the ceiling in a height of three or four metres and the dimensions of the entire lake.

Slowly he let his gaze wander over its surface, searching for the object that had caused the alarm. He spotted an undefined form near the other side of the water. It drifted lifelessly from the secret passage towards the middle.

"What the hell have you delivered now, Seine?" He whispered under his breath, still angry about the interruption of his work. What a pity that it was no intruder, someone he could vent his rage on! A nice murder, fast and clean, would have brought such satisfaction to the enraged genius.

The object had to be cleaned from the lake, however. Therefore the man entered the boat laying towed up at a small dock and with powerful strokes rowed in its direction. The nearer he approached the more distinguishable the silhouette became and soon he discovered that it was a human body. A drowned body!

_Oh no!_ He thought. This day could not get worse. He hated drowned bodies, he absolutely hated them! They had such unpleasant properties. Firstly, it was always so very difficult to get rid of them and bringing them back in the Seine was no easy action to perform, either. Secondly, they constantly returned to the surface, no matter how one tried to sink them to the ground. Thirdly, a drowned body rotted so damn slowly and stank unbearably. The cold water would decelerate the process in addition.

He steered the boat along with the corpse and immediately realized it was a woman for she floated face-up. _Suicide maybe?_ The man did not care a bit. His only concern now was in getting it out of the lake and out of sight as fast as achievable. In consequence he grasped one of her arms and heaved her into the boat under a flood of curses because his whole cloths became quite wet with cold water. Finally the organist succeeded.

As the woman lay in the gondola and he headed back towards the shore the physician in him inspected her thoroughly. Her skin was white and the lips of grey, almost blue colour. _Drowned or frozen?_ He wondered. Perhaps he could enlarge his knowledge in human anatomy on this body before he got rid of it? It would be a suitable and welcome possibility for a change that he did not get too often.

Having reached the shore, he intended to take her to the kitchen where he could carry out the bloody work without dirtying his entire lair. He did not know why but put two fingers to her neck as if searching for a pulse.

There was one! Puzzled he controlled his actions to find himself confirmed. There was a pulse – faint but definitively there. The man laid one gloved hand on her thorax registering a low breathing and a weak unsteady heartbeat. This woman was still alive but very, very, _very_ near the threshold to death.

"What do I do with you now?" The man asked himself standing indecisively over the body. He could kill her just now, repaying her for his spoiled aria. Somehow he doubted that it would satisfy him to kill a harmless woman who was not able to give him joy in defending herself. Or he could try to save her. But then he would betray himself of vengeance.

It did not matter. Most probable she would die anyway and then he still could perform the autopsy. In the meantime he could accept this vast challenge for his medical abilities and try to play a trick to god, a god who had bereft him of everything that was worth and dear in human life…

Having made up his mind the man carried the body utterly affected by hypothermia to a small bedroom he had kept locked since two years. Only when the man placed the young woman on the bed he remembered that it would be completely soaked. _The fine sheets, what a pity!_

Unfortunately there was no way to determine how long she had lain in water. Anyway, at first she had to get warm again as fast as possible what could be achieved easiest by removing the wet cloths. Without any further ado he removed a rather shabby blouse, skirt and an apron but hesitated as he came to her underwear.

One would it think very inappropriate if a man, even a doctor… _Who cares?_ The organist scolded himself angrily. He had done with mankind. 'One' was no-one to him so why even think about public opinion? He hastened to remove the bodice and to cover the icy skin with two blankets lying on the bed.

Christine had always complained about the coldness… The name caused a sharp sting in his heart. Christine. "Concentrate, boy. Concentrate." He told himself several times and was finally able to prevent a relapse into lovesickness.

He fixed his mind on his task. What else could be done to have a little heat here? He headed towards the wardrobe. In one of the drawers, if he remembered correctly, should be a hot water bottle. Pulling nearly every single one open he mostly spread their content to the floor until he found the desired utensil.

The filled bottle burnt his hands even through the gloves as he went from the kitchen back to the bedroom to place it at the woman's feet. Now, he had to wait.

The man cast a judging glance upon her. The pale almost white skin was interrupted every here and there by red and green bruises and scratches. Her lips were blue and the wet dark hair stuck to her head. _That girl's definitely no beauty._ He thought as the faint candlelight reflected peacefully on the body accenting the girlish features. He wondered how old she was. Most probable she had not completed her 21st winter yet.

Christine had also been very young though not that young. Two years ago she had left him and he nonetheless missed her – her voice of an angel, her innocence, her naivety, her beauty… and the feeling his life still had a sense.

This had been Christine's room during those short periods she had dwelled with him. The organist looked around. Nothing had changed – because he had not entered the room since. The giant wardrobe contained all the wonderful robes and dresses she had worn, the lower cabinet all the little things she had used.

"I must get out of here." He whispered to himself. Wounds threatened to open which had never healed completely! What the hell had he thought in taking this strange half-dead woman into the room bringing the sweetest and most horrible memories back to the surface! "I'm out of mind."

He fled with tears entering his eyes.

**So this was chapter 1. What do you think? Review, please! Thank you so much.**


	2. Dream and Reality

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. He is Gaston Leroux's. I am just borrowing him to give him some of the happiness of human life he never had the chance to experience._

**Lost In The Darkness Chapter Two – Dream and Reality**

A huge staircase winded up towards the first storey where Comte François de Pernier-Mariotte had sent for her. She had already served him quite often and always had uneasiness accompanied her doings. Her master possessed something she could not put her finger on causing this feeling. Yet she had not dared to speak to anyone about it. What would the other women say about her, a young maid in her first good situation? The Comte was a highly regarded gentleman in Paris' upper society. She tried to blame everything on nervousness – with more or less success.

But as she went up the steps this time a strong knot had formed in her stomach. Precognition? What could wait for her in the man's room?

Arriving at the door, she took a deep breath to calm herself, smoothed her apron once again and then knocked decently three times as she had been told.

It took a moment or two before an answer came. "Enter!"

The brassy doorknob was cold whenever a hand touched it. However, the maid did not feel it for her hands were as if of ice. "I bid you good evening, Sir." She said as soon as she had passed the threshold, closing the door behind her. The Comte was nowhere to be seen.

"Come over here!" He ordered from the neighbouring room serving as a wardrobe for the vast amount of shirts, trousers and other cloths. He did not turn as she approached but stood rather forlorn before a row of tailcoats. "Where's the black one?"

"Sir?" There were at least then different black tailcoats just before him.

"The new one so perfectly suiting with the shirt with the frills" He explained impatiently.

"Let me see." She made her way over and took position between the Comte and his clothing. Such problems she would like to have! Her only changing was a robe reserved for Sundays.

As she looked through the tails the maid suddenly felt a breath casting upon her skin that made her shudder. Her master had placed himself hardly an inch behind her. She was growing uncomfortable but tried to ignore it and instead continued searching.

Something crushed down without any warning. Utterly startled the maid turned her head. There should be no-one in the other room.

"What's wrong?" Her master asked, almost whispering in her ear.

"I think I heard a crash." She replied truthfully.

"You must be erring. I heard nothing."

The girl resumed her task. But there was another smash and this time she realized that it did not come from next door but from somewhere outside her consciousness.

_Curse you!_ The organist always praised himself of being silent like his Siamese _chat_ Ayesha. Yet he knocked over a chair first and then something on the table beside the bed he could not quite identify while retreating from the circle illuminated by the candelabrum back into the shadows. He had finally able to re-enter the bedroom where his medical challenge waited for him.

The young woman in the bed opened her eyes slowly. Darkness surrounded her, at least as long as her eyes adapted to the light of one single candle. Perplexed she starred into the blackness not knowing what was reality and what dream. Seconds ago she had been in the Comte's manor and now?

The question of her dwelling became secondary when a several rushes of shivering ran through her body. She was terribly cold and in consequence hugged herself instinctively to meet with pure skin. Where was her dressing? Panic settled upon her. She could not remember a single event from the time she had dreamed of onwards. What had happened that she found herself in an unknown bed in an ill-lit room and above without any recollections? Clinging to the blankets as if they were her only connection to sanity her teeth began clattering and tears filled her eyes.

"I'm not the least surprised that you feel still cold. You were almost frozen to death." Out of the shadows enveloping most of the room a velvety voice arose.

The girl exclaimed an utterly startled cry and sat up, pulling the blankets with her. In doing so a terrible pain exploded in her waist making her fall back into the cushions instantly. She could not suppress another cry. "Ah!"

Through the veil of dizziness due to the breathtaking aching she noticed a figure emerging from an utterly dark corner. Apart from a white mask with little yellow eyes behind it was clad entirely in black. It may have frightened her to death if she had met that… ghost in the streets. But now the girl was too weak to feel such a thing, let alone asking who he was.

Like frozen in time she did not protest or move as white-gloved hands appeared from under the black cloak and pulled away the sheets to reveal one of her sides nevertheless leaving enough to cover her bosom. Following the white mask's gaze she tilted her head down to her waist. There was a great red river running down her body and absorbed by the bed, thereby creating a constantly growing red lake.

"You have been shot." The voice stated coldly, neither surprised nor pitying. He knew the appearance of wounds resulting from pistol fire very well what enabled him of a diagnosis without further examination in short time. Just why had he not seen it as he removed her cloths? Maybe the icy water had cleaned and closed the wound and therefore he did not have any chance to distinguish it from the rest of the white skin. _Well, that might be a likely explanation._

Clouded dark eyes fixed his ones, first seeming not to understand what he said. "I… I can't remember." A frail voice replied not knowing what else to say.

After removing one of the gloves the figure slightly pressed the flesh around the hole causing the exit of another stream of blood. Though the touch of the long bony fingers was gently the girl could not help but whine.

"The bullet must be removed instantly. In your current state of health you would not survive an infection." For the blink of an eye he seemed uncertain but then said: "Press your hand against the injury while I'll fetch everything necessary." The intonation clearly showed that he would not tolerate any objections.

She followed his order and the warm red liquid covered her hand at once. Slowly her mind became clear again. Whatever had occurred leaving her not only frozen but also shot in the care of this… she still could not name it or him. _This_ was reality – and she had to face it. "Monsieur…"

The black figure turned back on its way towards the door.

_Surrender to your fate._ Her father's saying came to her mind. How often had those words meant harm to her! Now there was the prospect of hope in them. Maybe this figure could save her life. "Thank you."

"You'll regret those words as soon as I have begun."

She did not doubt it.

**What do you think of this chapter? I need you help to decide how to go on. Please review!**


	3. Surgery

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. He is Gaston Leroux's. I am just borrowing him to give him some of the happiness of human life he never had the chance to experience.

**A/N:** Thanks to Ray-Naughty and Atressa O'Riordan for their reviews and suggestions! I love you ;-)

**Chapter Three – Surgery**

Carrying a silver tray with different utensils, the shape re-entered the room. His patient lay in bed without having moved. Deeply sunken into the cushions she appeared very small and with her face still white he almost pitied her for what she was to go through. He pushed the thought aside. She had stolen herself into his domain and his help was due to sheer reassurance of his own abilities, not charity, let alone philanthropy. _No, she does not earn my pity_.

The figure vanished into the darkness again after the tray was stored on a small table next to the bed. But within a moment the room was illuminated entirely causing the shadows drew back into the corners. The girl blinked several times. She longed to bury her head in the cushion to protect her eyes, however dared not in fear of additional pain.

In the light the ghost became a real man. What has been all a black torso before separated into limbs and thorax covered by a heavy dark cloak which he removed together with a vest and threw rather carelessly over the rest of a nearby chair. A white shirt became visible. Only the white mask remained untouched. Rolling up the sleeves the man sat down beside her, once more inspecting the wound in detail.

"Are you a doctor, monsieur?" The girl asked.

"I have an interest in human anatomy and physiology." He answered without taking his eyes off their aim.

"That's no answer to my question."

Behind the mask and unseen by the young woman the man grinned. _She's got wits - plain and small as she may be_… He waited but she inquired not further.

Instead, anxiety showed in her eyes as he took up an instrument to widen the hole created by the bullet. Fresh blood streamed out. She took in a sharp breath but suppressed crying out loud.

"Hold still!" He ordered as she backed away unconsciously.

Though his voice was harsh with concentration it gave her the feeling of being in able hands. There was no sign of trembling in his precise movements. In a short moment of ceasing pain she wondered where he could have acquired those impressive skills.

As the tweezers removed the bullet in her waist the girl's senses refused service. Only seconds later an agony seized her she never thought possible.

The man paused a moment. Perhaps that was too much for her. Perhaps he had judged wrong and she would not survive this for she turned even whiter – if that was possible – white as marble. However, just some more minutes…

At last, the man had finished. He sterilized the wound with a good red wine. _What a waste for such an exquisite drop!_ However, he only possessed excellent wines and another source of alcohol was not immediately available. His patient had already lost consciousness as he did so. Probably that was the best way because the red liquid would have burned terribly in the open flesh and though he knew how painful such an operation was he did not like to hear her screaming anymore. Finally fresh and clean linen should prevent the wound from becoming infected.

Having accomplished everything he left out a sigh sure she would not hear anything. _Maybe I am getting to old._ This had not been as easy as he had imagined. His hands and cloths but also the bed were bathed in blood. How much might she have lost? It was a critical question. She needed to drink as much and soon as possible. Yet he dared not to wake her. She had deserved some healing rest.

**I know this chapter is very short. So I'll post the next chapter very soon. However, I did not want to go into too much detail… or do you want to read more about it? Please review!**


	4. Revelations

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. He is Gaston Leroux's. I am just borrowing him to give him some of the happiness of human life he never had the chance to experience.  
**Author's Note:** Sorry for not having posted this earlier. However, Easter holidays provided time to write…

**Chapter Four – Revelations**

When the room was put in darkness again with only one candle burning the man watched the sleeping little figure in the huge bed. The wet hair had dried meanwhile and the first faint touch of pink came upon her cheek making her looking less plain. Maybe there was some prettiness hidden inside.

She groaned as she woke up being thankful for the soft light. The hours gone by since the surgery were like a fainting dream for her. However, there were stings in her waist as if thousands of hot needles were there telling her that she had dreamt nothing of all this. She resisted the urge to sit up or make any greater move though her back and limbs were aching.

Her body was shaking when the girl had to sneeze sending another flash of pain through her.

"A vos souhaits." The mysterious man's voice came out of the shadows again, velvety and gentle. And like the last time slowly the white mask began to glow as he approached.

"Thank you." She replied with a terribly dry throat.

As if he had read her thoughts he presented a jar and a glass out of the air. "You have lost much blood. Drink."

That was an order he did not need to repeat. Hastily she emptied the entire vessel. At last, drops of the wonderful reviving cool water ran down her chin but she did not care about being embarrassed.

This time the man did not sat down by the bed instead remained standing with arms crossed. "You have caused me a lot of trouble."

She was not sure how to answer this accusation. She did not even know how she had stranded in his care, nor if it had been by her own fault. Deep in her mind she doubted it. "I don't have money to repay your kindness." She said at last.

"And I am not interested in money." He sounded angrily. "Now that you are fit enough you will respond to _my_ questions." Not waiting for any agreement he continued. "First, who are you?"

The girl felt as if brought to inquisition. Nevertheless, the least she could do for her benefactor was to answer. "My name is Madeleine."

"Ma… Madeleine?" The man stammered disbelievingly and his stiff posture collapsed momentarily. Hearing another woman carrying his mother's name caught him completely off guard. Many, many years he had not thought of her anymore. Their strained relation had always been marked by love and hate. She had hated him for what he was and he had hated her for hating him. Yet she had been his mother who he loved nonetheless. "Madeleine." He whispered finally coming over this shock and resuming his former attitude. "How did you end up drifting in the Seine?"

Her eye grew wide. "You pulled me out of the Seine?"

"I am the one asking questions." The rude reply came hardly after she finished. "What happened? Tell me!"

"I… I don't remember." For sure, this was no answer he wanted to hear. His still yet angry and cold behaviour made her frightened. One did not need much or special sense to realize that this man could get violent easily.

"I am not interested in you lies either, _mademoiselle_." He emphasized the address in a way she could not quite interpret. "I demand an answer!"

"This is the only one I can give you. I don't know who shot me and why nor how I landed in the Seine."

The white mask turned away, starting to walk up and down and murmuring to himself. "…trauma possibly… shock in addition… good actress…"

She caught his words only fragmentary while she watched him. In the dim light the man, the doctor whom she owed her life and who now wore the dark waistcoat and cloak again had changed into the strange figure once more. Madeleine was quite sure he meant a threat for her. Undeniably, he possessed a hostile aura. On the other hand, he would not have saved her only to do her harm, or would he? She had retreated deep under the blanket for she still was completely naked. She dared not to ask for her cloths though modesty demanded it. In his current state of mind she feared to give him some bad ideas…

When he looked at her again he had calmed down a bit. "What are you?"

The girl looked at him perplexed. "Pardon?"

"Hell!" The man sighed impatiently. "I mean, how do you earn your living? _What_ are you?"

"I was one of the minor maids of Comte de Pernier-Mariotte."

"Never heard of him." There was no surprise in this considering he had spent the last years in utter isolation. "So you are a maid. Your tasks?"

"Cooking, washing, cleaning… everything necessary."

"You could pay your debt by serving me. I live alone in this house and it could need a woman's hand. I am not fond of cleaning myself." The words were out before he had even realized what he was talking. Offering her to stay here to serve him? He had sworn to himself to break with mankind! _What the hell got to my mind? What did I think? Did I think at all?_ The answer was no.

Rage and fury against himself seized him and he knew it could be deadly for the girl though. "Excuse me." He said fast and almost ran out, deliberately ignoring her stunned gaze.

It was essential to calm down now. Of course he could always withdraw from the proposal and kick her right off. But then – in her eyes – he would appear to be someone who did not know what he was doing. Unfortunately, he really did not know it. And why should he care what she was thinking at all?

He paced the length of the room containing the organ up and down. Sometimes he hammered strong accords for releasing the energies seething in his blood. It did not work. "Why didn't I kill her at the lake at once? So much trouble would have been prevented. Women always mean trouble!" He learned that lesson two years ago – or rather should have learned.

Now he had made a damn foul of himself!

In the bedroom Madeleine remained totally perplexed. For the first time since she awoke in this room her senses were completely clear, no fog of dizziness or unbearable pain – though the waist was still aching badly – to cloud them. However, this moment was disturbed by an unexpected proposal. She was not quite sure whether she was free to decide to work for him or not. In his tone there had been something like an order but not that tone of absoluteness he had used before.

She was rather seized by the uncertain feeling he wanted to hold her here. But why? If he wanted a servant there were plenty of girls who would love to take up a position at a rich _Parisien_ – and he was rich as far as she could judge by his apparel. Madeleine had noticed the fine tissue and the cut perfectly suiting him. No need to wait until the Seine leaves one. So what did he want from _her_? Nevertheless she was deeply in debt, a circumstance forcing her to consider his suggestion very thoroughly.

Her position at the Comte… Probably she did not hold it any longer. Leaving without permission was cause enough for aristocrats to get rid of little maids especially when they were easy replaceable. Moreover she had never liked the Comte really. Objectively she had no reason to feel so but she never felt secure in his presence and since her dwelling here the sentiment had increased. Maybe it was just her silly narrow mind but could the Comte have something to do with what happened to her? What actually had happened to her? _If only I could remember…_

While thinking intensely about the problem Madeleine fell into an uneasy sleep.


	5. A New Inhabitant

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. He is Gaston Leroux's. I am just borrowing him to give him some of the happiness of human life he never had the chance to experience.

**This is a slightly changed and reposted version of Chapter 5. Please read it again before continuing!**

**Chapter Five – A New Inhabitant**

Madeleine woke to blackness deep enough that one could not see the hands before one's eye. She sat up abruptly cursing herself for being so careless because the wound made itself known causing her to press a hand against the waist to reduce the pain.

The walls seemed to imprison her, almost touching her. _Calm down, girl. Calm down._ She said to herself fighting back the panic. Persuading this was only her imagination she stretched her arms and fumbled into the darkness. There was only air she grasped.

A faint shimmer came from the slot under the door, at least the hallway was lightened. This time very slowly and cautiously Madeleine got up, wrapping herself into the blanket. Even in the darkness the nakedness was a bit too fishy for her liking. Her legs were weak. Wondering how long she had stayed in bed she staggered towards the door, trying not to have an unpleasant encounter with the furniture.

Finally she turned the knob. Outside one only could make out the schemes of an ordinary doorway extending into both directions. On the walls the gas lamps were spread in large distances. Due to their low burning the girl could hardly see what was between them.

She listened. There was not the least sound. Everything was silent as a grave. The thought made her shudder. A grave… Neither her bedroom nor this hall possessed windows. Without the candles and lamps eternal darkness would reign. Nonsense! She had not to frighten herself with such thoughts. Most probable it was deep at night what explained the silence as well as the gloom. Maybe she was in some inner part of the man's house without any outer wall. In this case there could be no windows.

Madeleine opened the door wide to gather as much light as possible. It was enough to find a gas lamp next to the door in her room. She turned it to a great flame and for the first time she saw the room completely. It was not huge but scarcely furnished though. Except the bed and the table beside she had already known there was only a spacious wardrobe of some red wood together with a smaller commode of equal making. On the latter she found a clock showing 4 o'clock. Did it still work? She pressed her ear to it but heard no clockwork.

Her eyes then checked the chamber for her cloths. They were neither at the foot's end of the bed nor on the chair. The wardrobe! When opening its two wings she took a step back. Dresses hung inside, dozens of dresses in different colours and shapes.

The man walked along the hallway. He had left his lair for the first time in months. Now he wanted to see how his patient was doing – and set things straight. Whatever she would say he would send her away as soon as possible and return to his usual daily routine. He did want to have a human being here – not counting himself as one. The only companion he had, wanted and needed was Ayesha, his Siamese cat. She had never deceived him, never abandoned him, never shrank back…

Approaching he eventually slowed down suspiciously. Light escaped the room from the door's slit. His white-gloved hand turned the knob without any noise. So he entered to find her in front of the open wardrobe.

"Stupid little girl!" He thundered.

Within an instant she whirled round. "I was… I only…" Entirely surprised she could not think of any coherent sentence. For sure, he thought her something like a spy.

"I just brought you back from death. Do you want to undo all my efforts? You want to die, yes?" Everything in him rebelled against the view: the blanket around her body leaving her shoulders bare, no shoes… It was always cool down here. If she had not caught pneumonia from her trip through the Seine she surely had now. This damn girl needed a stern guidance. "Back into bed!"

Madeleine dared not to refuse. She closed the wardrobe and sat down. "Please pardon me, monsieur, I…"

With a gesture he told her to be still. "Spare your explanations." He gave a sigh and suddenly his furious voice became smooth as if there never had been a mistune. "At least, you seem to get better. Maybe a little moving does you good."

"That would be wonderful!" One could not call it a smile but her features lightened up obviously.

"In this case you will need these."

He handed her a bundle of tissue revealing her blouse, skirt and apron together with the underwear. They were dry and rumpled, but it did not matter to her. What a relief to have her clothing back! "Thank you."

This time she really smiled and he blamed it on the prospect of getting away from the lunatic that was him. "As soon as you are dressed you are free to go." Some precautions were to be taken, of course and he doubted that she had recovered completely in these short days but the sooner she was out of his domicile the better.

The smile died away. "Monsieur, I'm deep in your debt and I won't go until it is paid."

Fool! A malicious inner voice cried immediately but his real ego was as astonished as she seemed to be about this sudden and unexpected outburst of courage. How much self-confidence a person had to have for ignoring the chance to escape a madman? He doubted she possessed enough, in reality.

Did she really say that? Madeleine had no intention to stay with this man. Honour demanded to pay the price for life. However _he_ was too strange and weird. Now that the words were uttered she did not want to take them back. _Surrender to you fate!_ Surely, she could serve him a few days to clean his rooms, wash his cloths and cook his meals. But then she would leave… and go back? Deep in her heart she knew she could not return to the Comte. If she only could put her finger on the reason…

An idea came to the masked man's mind. _When she doesn't leave when I tell her I will give her cause to leave!_ He took a malicious pleasure in the plans spinning in his mind. It had never been a problem for him to strike terror and fear into the hearts of two certain _Messieurs les directeurs_, there should be no difficulty in dealing with a silly young girl either. "In this case, welcome in my services."

Behind the white porcelain he grinned in a way that would have made Madeleine frowning if only she saw it.

"You can begin with washing those blood-soaked sheets. Down this hallway in the kitchen you'll find a tub and water." It was the first task for Madeleine from her new master and very soon she regretted deeply having insisting on paying the debt.

No matter how much she tried to suit him, never was he satisfied. "You call that cleaning!" The man shouted every time he entered somewhere, stroked with his white-gloved hand across the furniture at some inaccessible site and found the tissue covered with dust. Madeleine then had to fetch fresh water and went over the entire procedure again for four or five times.

Thus, hours filled with hard work went by, became days and finally another week had gone by without the servant's notice. In the irregular change of eternal darkness and faint candlelight she soon had lost her feeling for time completely. Several times when she looked at one of the clocks she thought of hours in the morning or afternoon although the streets of Paris above her dwelling were reigned by utter blackness.

Often while Madeleine was occupied by work the man in the white mask stood in some hidden corner, arms crossed in front of his thorax and simply watched her. At first the girl's eagerness had somewhat amused him when - two or three times - she had worked for more than twenty hours.

But slowly it annoyed him. All his attempts of being unfriendly, dictatorial and rude had recoiled without seeming to have any effect. However, she was not as strong as she might think. He already noticed the dark circles under her eyes. She could stand living like this not forever. Sooner or later she will want to chuck all this and beseech him to let her go. Then… then would be the moment of his triumph. Silence, at last!

Though, when he thought of being lonely again there was a strange sting in his heart. Madeleine was frightened of him, no doubt, yet she never asked about the mask. Why? He did not know. Probably she dared not. Whatever the reason might be, he gave her credit for that. She granted him the right of being accepted as a real master, a real man – a privilege he had longed for so many times in his life and still did, though not even admitting it to himself.

**Were the last chapters boring? I hope I have done better with the next. Please review!**


	6. A Gift Changing One's Opinion

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. He is Gaston Leroux's. I am just borrowing him to give him some of the happiness of human life he never had the chance to experience.  
The few lines of song text are taken from "Jekyll & Hyde" (the musical).

**Chapter Six – A Gift Changing One's Opinion**

Days later it was the turn of the Louis-Phillipe-room. Madeleine hated and loved this room at the same time. It was huge and vast with lots of antique but exquisite furniture that required much care. The low cupboards did not like water and the couch made of red velvet troubled her, too. Moreover, when she had cleaned here the last time her benefactor had kept an eye on her the entire time, enjoying hunting her throughout the room. One spot here, dust there… He always found something.

Nevertheless, she took pleasure in the silence resulting from his being out and the long rows of books that covered one entire side of the room. Not even Comte de Pernier-Mariotte possessed such an amazing library.

There was nothing special about labour or day, yet the environment caused a feeling of bliss. It grew and finally seduced her to begin humming the simple melody her dead mother always sang for her as a child.

_"Lost in the darkness silence surrounds you.  
Once there was morning now endless night..."_

"I told you to dust not to admire them!" A male voice filled the room with vivid thunder banishing the notes.

Completely startled because she did not hear him returning, she whirled round to find him clad in dark coats with the glowing mask. "Pardon." She said fast as soon as she had recovered and took up her cloth again.

He had entered the room silently as it was his habit and found her staring and dreaming standing in front of the books. A smile played on his lips while watching her caressing the books as if they were uncooked eggs. Then she began mumbling the first lines of her little song. She did not hold the tones correctly but the melody was captivating and somehow familiar though he did not know why. There was sadness in it, a sadness crapping his heart and pulling on it. He had to stop her. Now! Harsh words never failed in sending her back into her snail shell – and they did not forsake at this instant either.

A pause of remarkable length arose.

"Which one do you like best?" He finally asked out of nowhere, not even really knowing why. Maybe to restore some of the damage he caused in the girl's sensitive soul? However, he was not curious for the answer. He himself preferred maybe ten out of the nearly hundred ones. The rest was simply garbage – full of naïve ideas or sentimental romances and he regretted having read them all from the first till the last page.

"I have never read one of those." Madeleine replied, her voice sounding slightly astonished. He asked her opinion?

"But you should have heard about some. Most of my collection belongs to what's called world literature."

"No…" Her face first turned into a haunted expression then became embarrassed and finally she looked away. "No, you don't understand me. I _cannot_ read."

There was no immediate reply. "That's most unfortunate." The man simply stated at last.

In his voice seemed to be a tone of pity but maybe she was erring. How often had she regretted this inability herself! How often when standing in front of so many beautiful books had she wished to decode the letters on the leatherbacks and discover the hidden messages!

"Nowadays every child is meant to go to school!" _Well, not every child..._ he instantly corrected himself in his mind remembering his own education first performed by his mother and later by an architect. But he had been taught, at least. The frail figure in front of him obviously had not.

A bitter laugh escaped Madeleine's mouth as soon as she heard these words and tears forced themselves into her eyes. "Not in the distant ignoring damn village my family lives in." Her words were full of all the hatred she had buried since she had left her kind. "I thought that maybe in Paris…"

The gas lamp on the left wall reflecting in her eyes told him how those memories hurt her. Though he would love to have some more information he did not push. There were too many reminiscences of his own he would like to bury entirely.

"On the far end of the second shelf lies a small brown booklet." The man in the mask said while he loosened his cloak and together with the hat put it carelessly on an armchair. Then he dropped down on the sofa. "Bring it here!"

Madeleine did as she was told and hesitantly brought the wanted over. What was he going to do?

"Sit down" He ordered in his best command voice, adding as he saw the tissue still in her hands. "… and put away that cloth" Again she followed the order and while doing so, he opened the book and revealed lines full of letters and short sentences. "It is not too late for you to learn."

Though not returning her surprised gaze he felt it almost physically resting upon him. Again, hidden by the porcelain mask, the man grinned. _I love to shock you!_

Did he mean what she thought he intended? Did one of her deepest and most secret wishes become reality? An indescribable feeling of joy and satisfaction spread inside her and filled her entirely until it found its expression in a warm and thankful smile.

Since that day he trained her in reading and writing more or less regularly. Madeleine was a very eager student, sometimes even a bit impatient, impressing her teacher by her fast progress. Within a few weeks she was successful in reading an entire chapter of Victor Hugo.

During those hours of sharing the love for written words the shy and frightened servant girl transformed into a witty and curious young woman who opened new points of view to him. Moreover, an excellent memory accompanied the lively and quick mind. All this made him revise his former opinion. She was not stupid at all, just ignoring because untaught. Her mind was a gift – and a waste in a simple chambermaid… _If she also possessed a talent for music?_ Well, time would tell.

One did not need to be very empathic to notice how much she loved the new-won abilities. Yet, one event shocked him one night – it was real night regardless of the eternal darkness that reigned down in this lair.

Because of a sound more than unusual for this time he immediately sat up from the coffin he slept in. Never having slept particular deeply – in former times that would have meant death – the man swung his legs over the polished mahogany-wood not even caring to put on neither his mask nor the gloves he wore all time except for sleeping. Moving confidently and without noise or light since every inch was familiar he arrived at the Louis-Phillipe-room. Light glimmered from within.

Madeleine! _Oh, this awful beast! Stumbling through the house in the darkness!_ She would break his furniture. Not that he cared much for the things once belonging to the hated mother… and his servant carried her name. The idea he might transfer his resentment about her to the girl never occurred in his mind.

His hand touched the door and found it opened. He peeped through the gap. The silhouette of a candle was burning on the table near the couch… but no sign of Madeleine. Once having enlarged the slit, a view he was utterly unprepared for revealed to him. The table was covered with books of which he recognized a dictionary and a novel of Victor Hugo at once. The already low-burning candle flickered and set little clouds of soot free. Half sitting half lying in the cushions and over the books Madeleine slept. The dark hair possessed a faint red glimmer in the dying flame.

That woman was incredible! Of course he had noticed the dark circles under her eyes, her pale face and a tiredness seeming to grow with every further day. But he had never fancied… The girl was working at day and learning by night. Unwillingly his heart warmed for her and the curse of a few minutes before was forgotten.

For some minutes he just watched the lovely scene musing whether it was wise to wake her or to let her sleep. Without the thick woollen cloak he felt chillness seizing him. Or did it occur because of his own tiredness? However, as soon as the candle would have burnt out completely she would catch a cold.

Carefully not to wake her, the man put her up on his arms and headed for her room. Through the simple linen a servant's nightgown was made of he felt the warmth eradiated from her body although her skin already had a cool touch. Pure skin on his un-gloved hands… It has been very long since he had experienced that the last time. He had hardly dared to touch Christine at all, let alone with the long sticks he called fingers.

The mask! Suddenly he was struck by the realization that he did not wear it. If she woke now… Her horror visualized itself in his mind. _Go away!_ He cried mentally to the terrified female face.

With every second he held her this way this nightmare became more probable. So he hasted to the room, laid her down and covered her with the warm blanket to retreat as fast as possible.

With his heart pumping desperately and breathing heavily he went back to his coffin. What a shock of epinephrine at that time of night!

**I know the last chapters were not particular good. But I hope you will like the reposted Chapter 5 and this new one. Tell me what you think! Please! I'm longing for critic!**


	7. Le Coq au Vin

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. He is Gaston Leroux's. I am just borrowing him to give him some of the happiness of human life he never had the chance to experience.

* * *

**Chapter Seven – Le Coq au Vin**

Madeleine found herself back in the Comte Pernier-Mariotte's dressing room searching his robes. She did not notice him stepping closely behind her. His warm breath caressed her neck and sent a shiver down her spine.

Being inexperienced in such matters she only had a vague idea about his intentions. Of course it was out of question to remark anything of that kind. So she simply tried to ignore it – with no success.

"Madeleine" He whispered with his head next to her ear.

_I can't stand this any longer._ She decided and took a resolute step away from the line of dresses and of him.

"I want you." The Comte stated plainly, yet his voice contained a seductive undertone Madeleine was very well able to identify. Probably, he even wanted her to do. "I desire you."

"I am an honourable woman!" She exclaimed shocked by this doubtless immoral declaration.

He began closing the distance between them. "Why so shy? You are quite an attractive one."

Madeleine in return withdrew further pushing away the hands that he had placed on her shoulders.

"I am your master!" The seduction vanished from his voice as he realized she would not indulge and instead a dictatorial tone appeared. "You'll do what I ask of you!"

"No." The maid whispered. Slowly but surely she felt in real danger. The knot in her stomach tightened enough to cord up her throat. If she managed to scream would anybody hear her in the hall which was separated by the Comte's vast bedroom from her present location?

"You'll do. There's no way for escape." He approached again while her back pressed against one of the walls. "Surrender to your fate."

Her father's favourite phrase. This was a bad omen!

*************

Madeleine woke with heavy breathing and covered by sweat. Another nightmare was over. She hated them – not only because they prevented the so very much needed sleep. Yet they seemed to be the only clue to the lost memories of events leading her into the services of this mysterious employer - a man who, though often harsh, was of such another quality than the "nobleman" Comte Pernier-Mariotte.

Her hand wandered to her waist where once the bullet had penetrated her. There was no ache anymore but a scar remained – being the real link to a past that seemed like a distant unreal and bizarre dream. Or was her dwelling here a mere fantasy? Dream and reality. Often when she laid in bed like this she could not distinguish between the two.

The sight of the familiar room somewhat calmed her excited mind. How many times had she awoken in this chamber meanwhile? She had not the least idea. It might be a dozen or a hundred.

She was in her bedroom! The fact struck her like a bolt from the blue. How had she returned here? Her last reminiscence included the Louis-Phillipe-Room, Hugo's novel and the overwhelming tiredness. However, the return to her chamber was missing. But she must have returned otherwise she would not have awoken in the bed but in her master's favourite dwelling room. This being the only logical conclusion she forced herself to believe it though doubt never left her.

Musing about all these things let her forget glancing at the alarm clock. _Oh my god!_ Madeleine's heart skipped a beat or two as she saw the watch hands pointing to one o'clock. She had started for the library after this time last night, in consequence it must be lunchtime by now. She had overslept!

But why? The alarm should have woken her at six. Why had it not? She looked at the clock again. The alarm function was disabled. Obviously she had forgotten to reactivate it as she returned to bed. She had never forgotten before. In the meantime the action had bred into her very bone.

Almost in record time Madeleine jumped out of the bed, dressed and put on the bonnet, not caring for the hair looking out every here and there. She had to get to work as fast as possible. Everything else she could fix later.

There were sounds out of the Louis-Phillipe-Room. Madeleine was anxious to enter dreading some of the most terrible curses her employer hold such a big repertoire of. Yet she dared not to waste a second because every moment would make things even worse. She knocked the door as suitable for a maid before entering her master's room and stepped in immediately.

The knock caused him lifting his head from the papers he was studying. So his young servant was up, at last. For a moment he chuckled as she entered doubtlessly prepared for a storm crushing down on her. The apron was bound with the wrong side out and dark waves of hair welled up. What a shock it must have been for her to awake that late! Fortunately, the indifferent expression of his mask hid his amusement.

However, the couple of hours of undisturbed sleep had done her good. The pale cheeks regained a faint shimmer of colour and the dark circled under her eyes were also reduced.

"Sir, I apologize for having overslept." She fought to sound collected but her voice was trembling. "There is no explanation…"

"I don't want to hear another word about the matter." The man interrupted her unexpectedly calm. "There is a challenge for you. Go down to the kitchen. There you will find a nice chicken. I will have _coq au vin_ this evening. Are you able to prepare this piece of _haute cuisine_?"

"I've learned to do so."

"Then go." His gaze left the totally puzzled maid and returned to the papers in front of him.

Madeleine remained standing in the door for some seconds until she realized that she was dismissed. _What was that?_ This man was angry about every detail not going along with his liking. Yet he excused her inexcusable behaviour? The longer she stayed with him the more she became puzzled by his manners. Instead of answers only more questions occurred. She only hoped that at least some explanations came in time.

Arriving in the kitchen her thoughts were completely occupied by the dish. It was already noon and preparing the chicken would take much time. Each time she was newly impressed by how very well equipped the kitchen fortunately was. There were amounts of the most common spices and small tins with exotic or oriental ones she did not even know, for example. But where came all those things from? Madeleine had never seen other servants and though she could not really believe that her master went shopping food himself there was hardly another possibility. Just another piece of the puzzle he was.

She was about to set the table when another thing troubled her mind. She did not cook regularly. Did that mean he dined only once every week or so? On the other hand he was so damned concerned about Ayesha.

With a shudder Madeleine remembered the incident when it had not got the caviar it liked so much. The scar of the cat's scratching was still visible on her arm. Then, the plate containing the fish slipped from her fingers and shattered into a thousand pieces.

A "whore" he had called her, "moron" and "good for nothing". Oh, what curses and ill blood had rushed down on her that she did not even dared to remember! But the following misery was even worse. Slowly but surely, she had gained some of his trust – at least so she had thought. The feeling of being not only a bothersome fly infiltrating his lair, gradually beginning to vanish, returned at once.

Fortunately, Madeleine was able to make comprehensible to Ayesha that it was _her_ whom it received its food from. Since then the Siamese always strolled away when the maid came into sight and waited with vicious burning eyes until she left again.

"My compliments." The man had appeared next to her out of nowhere. Though she should have been familiar with his abilities by now she was startled every time anew. "Ayesha's not easy to handle."

_Neither are you._ The maid bit her tongue in order to held the thought with her.

"You success is unique." Real acknowledgement was in his voice.

"Thank you, Sir." Those few nice words sufficed to let her forget all the evil ones he had poured upon her.

Finally the table was set. The fine porcelain with the golden border was surrounded by equally _cher_ silver forks, knives and spoons for all three menus. A candelabrum offered it soft light and in passing the velvety red wine made it shimmering seductively. Only the masked man and the bird was lacking – he did not like a cold meal so she simply served when he was already present at the table.

"The dinner is ready, monsieur." She informed him silently.

"Wonderful." With the open door a delicious odour filled the Louis-Phillipe room. He rose, rubbing his palms. "I hope the _coq_ tastes as good as it smells."

She could not judge whether that was a threat or just a statement. He led the way to the dining room and approached the table while the maid was about to leave it for the kitchen.

"Madeleine!"

_What have I done wrong now?_ She stopped and turned. "Monsieur?"

"There is only one setting." There was disapproval in his words.

Did he expect her to set something for Ayesha as well? She did not dare to ask this way. "Do you expect a guest requiring a second plate?"

The fixed white mask always showed the same expression. Yet Madeleine felt him being puzzled by now.

"Why no!" He exclaimed at last. "You shall join me this evening." Waiting a moment to let the invitation settle on the young servant's mind he finally added. "Come on now. Fetch a plate and then bring the _coq_. We'll eat for I am hungry."

"As you command." Madeleine stammered and escaped into the kitchen.

**What do you think? Do you like it? Is the story developing too slowly? Please review! I'd love to have a good critic.**


	8. Revelations II

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. He is Gaston Leroux's. I am just borrowing him to give him some of the happiness of human life he never had the chance to experience.

* * *

**Chapter Eight – Revelations II**

The meal was excellent: the bird crunchy, the vegetables fine and the wine sweet and heavy. He could not remember the last time he ate with such pleasure. He had never been a great eater and did merely because his body required the food every now and then. But today, as he sat at the tastefully decorated table with the chicken's seductive smell caressing his nostrils and its aromatic meat in his mouth, he felt in exceptional high spirits. For sure, the wine had a certain part in it…

"Have you ever tasted wine?" The man asked as he stopped amidst pouring something of the red liquid in his servant's glass.

Madeleine sat opposite of him and somehow seemed out of place in her simple dress and apron behind the exquisite porcelain surrounded by silver knife and fork. "Non, Monsieur." She replied. "I never had the possibility."

He was not sure if to proceed. No doubt of her answer! In fact, he was quite sure that her family could not afford wine and noble men such as her former employer were very anxious about their servants staying sober.

"In this case I think it wiser…" He said while putting the bottle aside and took up a jug of water "when you try it only diluted. The wine's very rich and one easily becomes drunk, especially when one isn't used to alcohol."

"_A la tienne_!" The man added as he lifted the glass.

The young woman smiled a bit embarrassed and tried to imitate him. It was rather obvious that she had no training in real dining. With amusement he watched her trying to handle the _coq_ with the two utensils in her hands.

"No, no!" He exclaimed eventually. "Don't grasp the knife like this. Lay your pointing finger right on the knife's back." He showed her. "That's better, see?"

"I fear, I've only little experience in handling fork and knife artfully. Watching is one thing, doing it yourself another."

"I do not quite understand."

"During the time at the Count Pernier-Mariotte" – that sounded as if this had been millions of years ago – "I sometimes waited at the table. Then, I often watched the aristocrats how neatly they did with their flatware."

There was no more conversation during the rest of the meal. Madeleine's innocent ignorance of countenance at the table was an interesting subject to him. Thousand little things he took for as a matter of course. Was it possible that he, though the many years of unsteadiness and violence in his life, had retained the proper manners he had learned ages ago from his mother?

When returning from his musings, the enigmatic man found his servant staring at him. Although he had thought himself beyond any reactions to intense gazes a flame of fury shot through his veins. Invisible to her his expression darkened.

Or was it? He recognized the attention appearing in her eyes in response to his changed mood. How could she notice behind the mask? People often talked about a woman's sixth sense… He had never believed in this – he, who knew every trick of fortune-telling and ghostly visions.

Instead of shouting at her how she dared to stare at him in such a manner as he would have done in any other circumstances, the fury died away as suddenly as it had seized him. The waves of rage rushed over him but left him unharmed. _Surely, my full stomach and the wine affect my judgement._ Nevertheless he took another sip of the red wine whose velvety feeling on his tongue and the unfolding delicate sweetness were the final balm on the curly waters of his mind.

"You have shown a remarkable discretion in whatever concerns my person or habits." The dark eyes of the young girl met his, eyes not quite succeeding in hiding the maid's curiosity. "From my experience this is a rare property in women. Your patience shall not be in vain."

Madeleine had laid knife and fork aside and watched him not knowing whether she was supposed to respond. He was right. Her curiosity had grown the longer she served him, she had always attempted to hide it from him. His temper was unsteady. Sometimes a wrong gaze or an incautious word could trigger a storm of curses or even violence.

"Ask the questions troubling you mind!" He leaned back in the chair. "Ask what everybody wants to know – only earlier." Tones of impatience, yet tiredness and even pain mixed in his voice. "I give you only this one chance. Hence ask!" Patience had never been one of his strengths.

"What is your name?"

He was quite surprised about her putting this question first. Most people would have inquired to why he hid himself behind the mask. Face and appearance were so important to them! "Erik, I was named Erik." He answered at last in a strange tone. The name, not heard during the last years, sounded so strange in his ears – so unlike himself.

"Simply Erik?"

"I do not carry a surname if you refer to this, Madeleine."

"Not quite. It is only… you speak that name as if it were the name of a stranger." A shudder ran down her spine as she said those words. She almost felt like dining with a ghost. She did not know that more or less she really was.

"Your fellow-people usually address me in a different way."

Again she surprised him by making no inquiry as to what this way was. "People?" She asked instead. "In all the past month you never received a guest."

"You are right. I am quite protective of my privacy. However, your untrained mind forgets that I go out from time to time to make certain arrangements. Then I have to deal with the human society."

How he spout the word! And the deep hostility in his voice... "You exclude yourself from society?"

"Exclude myself? Ha!" A bitter laugh escaped him. "It was society who excluded me!" His fist banged down on the wooden table with such power rattling the porcelain.

Now they were getting to the core. Madeleine noticed instantly the vast wound in his heart and soul. "Nevertheless you miss human proximity. You long for a companion."

"No!" He shouted.

"You may deny it. You may try to convince yourself, but you cannot fool me." Her voice was soft and calm. Madeleine did not know why she dared to speak her thoughts. For the moment he had lost all his frightening characteristics. She felt he needed another human being near him.

Every fibre of his body cried against this simple truth. He wanted to shout "No!" over and over again. However he knew how little difference his denial would make to her. Madeleine's words were much too serious for that – and their seriousness also made him remaining silent.

"First of all, you cannot make friends when you live beneath the ground. That is where we are. Am I right?" The female voice made its way into his mind.

Eric's head snapped up and eyed his employee distrustfully. "Where did you get this idea from?" He asked slowly and eying her carefully.

Madeleine could have insisted that she had asked first but knew it would make no difference to this man with the strange manners. "There is not one single window and a house without them would surely be known throughout Paris as a _curiosité_. In consequence it must be concealed and where would that be easier to achieve than in the soil?"

"Nice stream of thought." He answered and an appreciative smile crossed his face as his suspicions faded. "You are no fool, Mademoiselle Madeleine… despite your lack of common knowledge."

"Thank you." She whispered back while her cheek began burning. This was the nicest compliment she had ever got. Fortunately, the scarce candlelight would hide her reaction from him – at least so she thought.

But it did not. He noticed the colour coming to her fair complexion and suddenly the plain girl sitting in front of him turned into a beautiful woman. He startled at this notion. She was only a temporary servant working off a debt, a mistune in his symphony of loneliness, the reason for a ruined aria. He should not take pleasure in her company.

"To answer your question…" He did not want to follow this idea afraid of where it could lead. No, it was definitely better to concentrate on the here and now. "You are perfectly right. I built my house to the same level where underground waters fill the Seine…"

Madeleine watched him slightly frowning. Therefore he added "Five storeys beneath the Opera Populaire to be exact."

Her eyes grew big. "The famous Opera Populaire?"

He nodded and observed the great variety of emotions playing on the girlish face. First she displayed sheer admiration but later her gaze darkened after the flash of an idea had glittered in the eyes. For the fraction of a second he thought to see anxiety but then it was gone completely and left him unsure whether it had been there at all. Perhaps she had heard some horror stories about the Opera Ghost?

Eric did not pose an according question and she did neither.

"You said society excluded you. Is this why you choose to flee down here?" The enquiry passed her lips only hesitantly knowing it would hit him right to the heart.

Long minutes went by while Eric sat stiffly and silent, his eyes fixed somewhere in the dark.

"I…" Madeleine became very uneasy. "I shouldn't have asked. Pardon, Monsieur."

"Do you really believe the society of a city like Paris to accept a man in their rows hiding himself behind a white mask?" Only towards the end he stopped staring at the imaginary fixed point and met her gaze – hard, inexorable and with pure hate. "Answer me, Mademoiselle!"

Madeleine jerked. These abrupt changes of mood, she doubted she could ever get used to, regularly frightened her and took her breath away.

"I do not like to repeat my orders."

"No, sir." She put a light emphasis on the address. "I doubt such man would be welcomed."

"You may regard yourself honoured, _petite Mademoiselle_. You little and insignificant servant belong to only five people who know I am existing at all."

She did not like being called "little" and "insignificant" but, however, it was true and Monsieur Eric was no one using euphemisms. Madeleine wondered whether he chose these characteristics deliberately to humiliate her or if he simply did not care. In the end she preferred neither alternative.

"Five people" She repeated more to herself. "…lost in the darkness"

"What did you say?"

The girl looked up. "I was just remembering an old song. My mother used to sing it for me when I could not sleep." A slight smile came across her lips as pictures of days long forgotten re-entered her mind.

"Lost in the darkness silence surrounds you." She hummed the first tunes.

"Stop!" Eric interrupted her rudely. "Stop immediately." He did not care that she sang horribly wrong but he could not stand a ballad like this at an evening with a gloomy state of mind.

"_Pardonnez-moi._"

"And stop apologizing for nothing!" He jumped off the table in one second and began pacing the entire length of the room, hands clasped behind his back and eyes on the floor as if he searched something.

Madeleine listened to his mumblings though she was unable to understand a single word. He looked very impressive, she had to admit. The cape floating over the arms! The fine evening dress emphasized his athletic anatomy additionally. If it were not for the white mask… It glowed in the candle-lit room and conveyed the immense power this man possessed – and the danger.

Thus, he wandered around for some minutes being watched by his servant, then stopped abruptly and turned to her. "Now, Mademoiselle, I expect an honest answer to the following question. And be warned, I will be aware of a lie immediately."

Madeleine became frightened. What could he ask her that she would not answer freely?

"If I showed you the way out of this subterranean house to fetch something for me, would you come back?" His small yellow eyes were fixed on her and registered every movement of a single muscle. Eric was still not sure how far he could trust her. Could he trust her at all? Women were such unpredictable beings! Actresses! All of them!

She stared back at him without twinkling. Slowly but with a steady voice she answered. "_Oui_, Monsieur."

Erik was seriously taken aback. He had not expected a positive reply. Surely, she only said that because she feared for her life, didn't she? But the honesty in her eyes and voice told him otherwise. So why…?

Reading the unspoken question in these two dark holes of his head, Madeleine added "Where should I go? Back to the Count? Back to my family through half of France into poverty?"

There was no appropriate reply. Still unsure about her sincerity he opted for counter strike. "You worked up your debt. What if I do not want you here anymore?"

The young servant saw through this tactic immediately. Defence, not more. "I wouldn't believe you."

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	9. Paris Fair

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. He is Gaston Leroux's. I am just borrowing him to give him some of the happiness of human life he never had the chance to experience.

**Sorry for updating so irregularly and few times. Unfortunately, I cannot help it. Either there is no time to write or the muse deserts me. ****I hope you'll enjoy this chapter nevertheless. Please review!**

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**Chapter Nine – Paris Fair**

One night Eric came home from a little shopping tour. Two years ago he had broken all contact to Julien who had attended to all the outer world affairs for him. Since those tragic events everybody thought the Opera Ghost dead. Erik had left the whole world in this belief – including Julien. Now, no-one knew that the phantom was still alive. At every other evening that thought would have depressed him deeply, but not tonight. The air had been mild and pleasant lifting his spirits to an unusual level. Spring had found its way to Paris allowing flowers, bushes and trees to bloom and spread their scents everywhere. As Eric entered the house, he felt his face heated by the exercise.

He met Madeleine in the kitchen – and was struck by her paleness. Like a ghost. A few weeks ago he would not have noticed but the more Erik accustomed to her presence, the more he thought of her well-being. Madeleine probably had no idea that spring had arrived. The last months she had spent in eternal darkness five storeys underneath the opera. In some strange way he was even sorry for her because the bit of beauty she possessed would fade unseen by the world.

While storing his purchases and adjusting his attire to its usual flawlessness, an idea formed in Eric's mind that might kill two birds with one stone.

"Madeleine!" He called out.

She came immediately, rubbing her dirty hands on the apron as she entered the Louis-Phillipe room. "You've called, Monsieur?"

"_Mais oui_." He answered. "I have something for you." From underneath the dark cloak he produced a heavy metal key. It looked rusty in his white-gloved hand as he held it out to her.

The maid stared at the key for some seconds, then looking at her master with a puzzled expression.

"This is the key to the door leading to the Rue Scribe. It allows you to leave my home and come back unnoticed and unquestioned."

"Why do you give it to me?"

"Because you have to do some important tasks for me – doing my shopping, to be precise. The stock of food is limited and you know best what needs to be purchased. Moreover, you will to go to certain tailors and other craftsmen from time to time to order and fetch my new garments."

Amused, he watched her suspicious expression. She knew him well by now. She doubted his intentions.

"I could use this key to escape, you know."

"I offered you several times to let you go. You refused." Eric answered simply. He had thought about the likeliness of a flight. But, as Madeleine had pointed out herself, she had not place to go. Chances favoured him in the end. "What should you do elsewhere? Where should you go?"

Madeleine dropped her eyes. "_C'est vrai._" It hurt to be reminded on her own insignificance as her master had once put it. "But I might fetch the police to catch and imprison you."

For a moment Eric just looked at her. _No, you won't._ He could see it in her eyes. "Take the key." He urged.

She obeyed. For the split of a second she touched the smooth white glove. It was cold. Then Erik had already withdrawn his hand.

"There is money." He pointed to a note on a nearby table. "I do not care what happens to the change as long as everything is to my satisfaction."

This being said he turned and his dark suit melted gracefully into the black shadows. He was gone.

Madeleine picked up the note. Five Francs. What an enormous amount of money that was for someone like her! She had always known that her master was rich. But how rich must he be to leave five Francs to a servant?

The next morning Master Erik showed her the secret passageway to Rue Scribe. Despite its old and rusty appearance the door unlocked easily. Fierce sunlight stung in her eyes as Madeleine stepped into the sunlight for the first time in months. She inhaled the fresh air and felt life and activity returning to her limbs and mind. Madeleine felt like having adapted herself to the peculiar circumstances of her current life, but she had been wrong.

From a dark corner deep in the passage that not one ray of sunlight reached the phantom watched her – her face and complexion suddenly flashing with colour and energy. What had he deprived her of? Obviously she belonged to that life out there. Would she come back? He had not doubted her loyalty to him during the past months, but right now he was not so sure anymore.

For the first time in months, he had the house to himself and with it the silence he needed for composing. Erik tried to concentrate on his work but his mind always got distracted.

Madeleine made her way through narrow passages and broad avenues towards one of the great markets. She was not in a hurry since she thoroughly enjoyed every ray of sunshine, every breath of fresh air and the bustling life around her. Oddly, she felt a stranger in the streets she knew so well. But since nothing had really changed, she had changed enormously. Only know she became aware of this fact.

_Marché de Paris_ was striking. People in colourful cloths everywhere. Distinguished noblemen and women mixed with the common citizens and workers. The smell of herbs and flowers intermingled with those of meat and fish and fruits. It was not difficult for Madeleine to get what she needed in a short time, yet she felt a reluctance to return to the Opera Populaire immediately. Of course there was enough work waiting for her and she could not even want to avoid that work. It was just… well, she could not quite put her finger on the point.

Thus Madeleine strode aimlessly over the Market, looking here and there – and suddenly froze in time. In front of her stood the one man she hated and feared most. He stared at her as she stared at him. All colour had drained from his face. For a short moment he covered his face with his hands and Madeleine was quick-witted enough to dive into a bunch of people just passing.

Breathing heavily she hid behind the next stall. Her hand went to her heart because it beat so fast that she was honestly afraid it might burst in her chest. Was it really possible that it had been _him_? Had she not mistaken a similar man for _him_? It took all the young servant's courage to turn and peep around the stall to look at the point where she had stood just moments before. No, there was no mistake. It _was_ him, indeed. The count de Pernier-Mariotte was still rooted to the spot although he turned around as if looking for someone. From the way he looked, he had probably recognized her as well.

Madeleine fell against the stone wall behind her. The knees were weak and she felt like fainting. But she could not allow herself to faint. Through the daze of shock she realised the high danger. If he found her here… realising that she was not dead, then… She had to get away from the market as fast as possible. Panic nearly clouded her mind as she ran through the rows of stalls towards Rue Scribe. After some fumbling she unlocked the door, slid inside and leaned against the door that fell into its lock in a loud noise that echoed in the hollow passageway.

Only now, in the depths of the opera where she was sure to be safe, Madeleine slowly calmed down. Eventually her heartbeat decelerated and she felt strong and steady enough to approach her Master.

As usually he appeared out of a shadow of nowhere. An amused grin was on his lips as he asked. "Was it that dreadful out there? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I have" She whispered. "I have – and so has he."

Eric's eyes narrowed and Madeleine was forced to recount her story in every minor detail.

**There will be more. I just don't know when. Some feedback might speed the process ;-)**


	10. Revelations III

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. He is Gaston Leroux's.

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**Chapter ****Ten – Revelations III**

Late at night, while his servant was already long asleep, Eric himself remained restless. She had been much shaken by the encounter and this worried him. He did not know if or how much memory she had regained of the events preceding her dwelling in his underground world. So far, she had not confided in him. A smirk came across the masked face. _Of course, she has not told you. How could she?_ Eric mused. _You're her master. She's afraid of you. You've not shown any interest in her personal feelings._ He would ask Madeleine tomorrow. However, judging from today's events, it probably was the Count himself who shot the maid.

When the yellow eyes behind the mask looked at the huge clock it was near four in the morning. Taking the heavy cloak from his shoulders with a sigh, Erik headed towards bed.

It was midday when he awoke again, yet somehow he did not feel refreshed. His mind had been occupied while the body rested – if only he remembered what exactly. Lazily, Eric climbed from the coffin he slept in, carefully set the mask in place and used the bell to call for Madeleine. The small tool offered an enchanting and brilliantly clear sound. Eric had manufactured it himself while being interested in metallurgy.

No minute later, there was a knock at the door.

"You may enter."

Madeleine carried a basin filled with water and a towel hung over her arm. She placed both items neatly on the commode. "Good morning, monsieur. Have you slept well?"

She hardly looked at him while speaking but concentrated on her doings. Eric noticed every morning, not without a certain amusement, how carefully she avoided looking at the room in general and the coffin in particular. As it was her nature, she did not ask one question about his strange habits of life.

"Not too well, to be honest. But you do not look much better either."

Momentarily startled, Madeleine turned her head, facing him directly with a puzzled expression.

"I expect my servant to be dressed properly when appearing before me." Eric said haughty but in reality he was only teasing. Her face was still pale and the eyes dark-circled. Locks of hair had escaped her clamps and the apron was tied with the wrong side out.

The girl blushed bringing some colour to the white cheeks. Somehow he liked the view.

"Be so nice and fetch a new shirt together with my velvet morning cloak."

Madeleine went towards the little room that exclusively contained his vast assortment of garments. She needed a few moments to find the requested items and while she searched his wardrobe an unpleasant feeling of _déjà vu_ seized her. The last time she had selected clothes for her master was with the Count…

Suddenly she needed to get away from this room, away from him. Therefore, she grabbed the first shirt she could find, placed it together with the cloak carelessly next to the water basin and turned to leave.

Bewildered, her master observed her shaking movements. "What's wrong?" He asked.

"Nothing." Madeleine answered irritated and much too fast. Having realized her impoliteness towards him, she curtseyed but then left straight away.

When washed and dressed, Eric went in search for the maid. He found her in the kitchen, crying and clinging to a cup of tea. Her sobs were so heartbreaking that he felt obliged to comfort her. If he would dare to touch her… just a light touch. He extended his hand, yet hesitated a few millimetres away from her shoulder before his fingertips made contact. She jumped so hard that the chair tumbled and fell. The cup of tea regorged on the table.

A moment of awkward silence passed between Madeleine and her master who had withdrawn a step or two into the shadow. Suddenly the old terror of him seized her. This man was almighty in his own world, surrounded by mystery and larger than life. The mask seemed to glow and the small yellow eyes pierced into her soul.

"Wipe your tears and tell me." His soft voice was a harsh contrast to his unapproachable demeanour.

Madeleine reached for her apron, but the white gloved hand offered her a handkerchief, which she accepted thankfully. The tissue was so very soft on her face that she wondered if it could be silk. Letters were embroidered in one corner: M and another one she could not identify. _Who might this handkerchief – a woman's – have once belonged to?_

"Tell me." Erik repeated while he refilled the servant's cup of tea and poured one himself.

"When you bid me earlier to bring your clothes, pictures flooded my head. Fractured memories of the Count's mansion."

She fell silent, unwilling to go any further.

"Go on."

"I can't." She gulped down another sob, fighting for countenance.

"Go on – please."

How was he able to force her into something she did not really want? Madeleine could not but answer. "He called me to his rooms, asked me the same thing you've done only to…" She stopped embarrassed and got up from the table.

"Only to approach me and touch me… where he shouldn't." The words were barely a whispered and though she did not make any sound, Erik sensed that tears had broken out again.

"I refused and fought him, warning him that I would tell his wife _Madame la Comtesse_ …"

Another pause followed that he waited patiently until she was ready to continue.

"But then he hit me, dragging me to the wall. His mouth was on my neck when I could break free. I fled. What way I can't recall. But when reaching the Seine, he was suddenly there. I remember a loud bang… but then… nothing."

Absent-minded, Madeleine stroked the amazing material of the handkerchief – at this moment her only connection to reality. The rational part of her brain still wondered to whom the letters belonged, while she tried to process the traumatic memories.

Madeleine's eyes were in the past and thus unaware of her master's fists clenching. Rage boiled his blood. Among the many ugly crimes mankind was capable of – the abuse of a weak person, child or woman, was by far the most condemnable. Even Erik himself, who had tortured and murdered mostly for defence, sometimes out of rage, sometimes just for pleasure, had never dared to lay hand on an unwilling woman. The _Comte_ needed to pay for that! And so, Erik silently swore by the God he had never believed in, that he would avenge Madeleine.

"I apologize for having brought back dark memories." He meant what he said, but she would never know how well he understood.

What a strange emotion compassion was! He despised it, absolutely despised it. Nobody had ever shown compassion to him and his fate – well, except one – and in consequence he had told himself not to show it to anyone in return. Yet, he could not help it now.

Unexpectedly, a wonderful melody filled the kitchen, echoing in the high ceiling. Madeleine looked up. Master Eric had moved forward again though carefully avoiding any closeness. He was humming cadences so sweet and enchanting that the maid could not but forget her sorrow and loose herself in the music. Soon the stream of tears ceased.

Erik caught her amazed eyes and although her gaze was still painful, a faint spark of hope and thankfulness mingled in. He smiled secretly. He had not lost the power of his voice and with it the power over people.

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